Feathers
by Kira Kyuu
Summary: Siobhan Potter used to always visit churches, at least when she could. She never knew that would give her something in return. After all, if you love God, He finds a way to repay that, does He not?
1. Feather One

**One of the many ideas that decided it absolutely has to be written out. I'm giving it to you guys so you at least have something, even if it isn't**_** Zenku**_** or **_**Was It Worth It**_**. This one is going to be a kinda drabbley HP/Boondock Saints crossover, starting two-ish years prior to the first Saints movie.**

**This is one of the few stories where my femHP does not, in fact, have a flower name. Instead, I have given her 'Siobhan' – pronounced the same as Chevon – and it's an Irish equivalent to Joan, and means 'God is gracious'. I did concede to giving her 'Juniper' as a middle name, even though it won't be mentioned much, if ever. . . And 'Evan' – where 'Evans' is drawn from – is a Welsh name that can be an alternative to John, which also means 'God is gracious'. :3**

'**Kian' is also an Irish based name, meaning 'ancient' and 'enduring'. (It also sound like cayenne pepper :3 Figured I'd give someone a somewhat plant-sounding name)**

**This is not included in my Plunnie Farm due to that fact that this will be an interconnected drabble series.**

**Feathers**

**Siobhan Potter**

She wasn't sure what had gotten into Aunt Petunia. "I'm only a few months off of my seventeenth!" she protested incredulously. A scowl marred her lightly freckled features as the blue-eyed woman still ushered her into the car, shoving a carryall with her uniforms and schoolbooks into the teen's arms.

"I don't care," Aunt Petunia snapped in return, then abruptly looked contrite, "My father has asked that you spend this summer with him and you _will_ do so."

The Girl-Who-Lived sank back into the back seat of the car, feeling as though someone had punched her in the gut. "I have a grandfather?" she whispered in shock.

Aunt Petunia nodded tensely, "Kian Evans. He has Tourette Syndrome, and is a veteran of the second World War, so you better respect him."

"Tourette. . . That's where you say stuff randomly, right?" Siobhan hesitantly asked, remembering the small book of common mental disorders that Hermione had given her when she had started to 'hear voices' in her second year at Hogwarts.

The Dursley woman pursed her thin lips, nodding curtly. Thankfully, her niece fell silent for most of the trip.

"You never told me why your _school_ closed early," Petunia muttered. Siobhan had been sent back to the Dursley residence in early January, instead of late March. Pale, leaf green eyes meet Petunia's cornflower blue ones.

"I suppose I didn't." The _You never asked_ was left unmentioned. Petunia flinched, _Why do her eyes look like Da's?_


	2. Feather Two

**Feather Two**

"There was an attack," Siobhan murmured, turning her eyes away from her aunt. "Dumbledore, some of our muggle-born classmates, and a few of the professors where killed. It will probably disappoint you and Uncle Vernon that I was one of the students almost killed." The teen shivered faintly, but Petunia's eyebrows were drawn together in confusion.

"Why would we be disappointed?" _Please don't say what I think you mean . . ._

"I didn't die. I know you both hate me and want me gone."

Petunia felt tears prick at her eyes as she opened her mouth to retort, but she stopped. What had they done to refute that, after all? They had always insisted that Siobhan was a burden, that she wasn't worth the clothes on her back. They treated her almost as badly as lepers were in the old days, even after she had saved Dudley's immortal soul.

Disgust roiled in the woman's gut, suddenly realizing what harm they had wrought upon their own blood.


	3. Feather Three

**Feather Three**

When they reached the London Heathrow, Petunia emptied her purse of bills and dug out a silver necklace – the simple little cross pendant shining even after all these years.

"I'm sorry, for what it's worth," Petunia admitted quietly, "We were horrid to you when we should have been kind. The. . . The necklace was Lily's." The woman passed the teen the necklace, bills, passport, and ticket. _You can't undo any of the harm you've done,_ she thought to herself, self-hate finding its root.

Siobhan studied her aunt, wondering if this was all a joke. But, no. . . she seemed sincere. "The attack was committed by Voldemort's people. You're a target because you're my family, so get out of Britain while you're alive." That was as much of an offer of forgiveness as any of the Dursleys would get from her.

Aunt Petunia nodded in understanding, her eyes shining oddly in a way that reminded Siobhan of Hermione or Luna when they were sad.

"Goodbye, Siobhan."


	4. Feather Four

**A Tanakh is the canonical collection of Jewish texts that are the base for a lot the Christian Old Testament. I chose that because Hebrew is a beautiful language, written and spoken.**

**Feather Four**

The flight lasted longer than Siobhan had thought it would. Eventually, out of boredom, she turned to the man – the priest – next to her.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Father, but do you have a Bible I may borrow?" Siobhan needed something to read, after all, and she never did get a chance to read all of any single version of the Bible.

The priest turned to her, his dark eyes twinkling beneath the mass of white hair on his head and face. He rather reminded her of Hagrid, in that manner. "I am afraid I only possess a _Tanakh,_ my dear child." Her face must have showed her confusion.

"A _Tanakh_ is a Bible, but written in one of its early forms – in Hebrew," he explained quietly.

Siobhan bit her lip, brow drawn together. She didn't know Hebrew, only Latin and Gaelic, thanks to her lessons in school prior to Hogwarts, and while she picked up languages rather easily. . . She was unsure of how to ask for lessons in at least reading Hebrew from the priest.


	5. Feather Five

**Feather Five**

A light touch on her forearm made Siobhan flinch away from the priest next to her, but it did catch her attention.

"Please, allow me to show you." He was holding a worn leather-bound book between them. Cautiously, Siobhan leaned forward.

"This is '_m'khashepah'_. It means 'one who does evil magic'. This passage translates, roughly, to 'suffer not the witch to live'." Siobhan felt her face harden._ He knows I am a witch_, she thought angrily.

"Most modern translations leave out the 'evil' part, deeming it a reason to kill witches. Those who are of proper ranking in the Church do not believe so, my child, so worry not. Your magic is a God-given gift," the priest assured her quietly, placing a large, rough hand upon her shoulder, ignoring her flinch away.


	6. Feather Six

**AN: Updates on FF will be sporadic. Please look me up on AO3 if you would like more regular updates.**

**Feather Six**

_My injuries. . . They don't hurt as much,_ Siobhan realized abruptly, turning back towards the inside of the plane, eyes searching for the kind Priest. The grey Job's Tears rosary with a bone crucifix dug into her hand.

The kind priest was nowhere to be seen. She waited, for a short while, but the plane quickly emptied with no sign of the man who had given her a precious Bible and the Rosary from around his own neck. _Who was he?_

A soft chiming of bells brought her attention over to her left, behind the witch. A rough cardboard sign bearing her name was held aloft by a sun-kissed man, a shorter – would it be moon-kissed, for a pale dark haired man? It should be – man with blue eyes visible even from this distance beside him, and an older man wearing large glasses looking at the crowd that had disembarked. The night and day men seemed to be arguing, not paying attention to the crowd mulling around them.


	7. Feather Seven

**Please note that I'll attempt to do an Irish accent to the best of my ability, but it WILL NOT be perfect. 'Aingael' means angel.**

**Feather Seven**

The moon-kissed man noticed Siobhan first. "Are yeh Siobhan, _aingael_?" he asked, edging forward slightly. Her eyes flitted over him, his friend, then onto the old man.

"Kian Evans?" Siobhan asked quietly. Her voice had lost some its typical British lilt – which she usually picked up after returning to the Dursleys – due to her impromptu lessons with the Priest.

"Y-yes. I-I'm glad t'see yeh're well, Siobhan," Kian replied, a grin lifting his aged face. Her eyes once again darted to the two men, but she gave a partial shrug.

"I've been better, honestly, sir. I'm early due to an incident at my school," she admitted, her face not changing from its cautious mask.

"At Hogwarts? 'S everythin' alright?" Kian inquired, a few curses slipping out of his mouth. She ignored them.

"The school's been closed until further notice," she equivocated dully, "So. . . I can stay for longer, if you wish me to."

"A'course! I'll b-be happy t'ave yeh, my dear!" he said, almost as if he were shocked that she had to ask. Maybe he was. Aunt Petunia had seemed honestly ashamed of her behavior, and that had to have had a reason.

Or maybe he was just nicer than Aunt Petunia ever was. Time would tell.


	8. Feather Eight

**Feather Eight**

It was as Siobhan was tucking away her under-uniforms that the night and day men finally introduced themselves as Connor and Murphy MacManus – regular patrons of the pub her grandfather owned, _McGinty's_.

"It's nice to meet you," she stated blandly. Living at the Dursleys had left her with little modesty – Aunt Petunia had always supervised her showers or rare baths, after all. Hogwarts' dorm-showers and restrooms, and the Quidditch locker rooms had further driven in that lack of modesty.

"How'd yeh get hurt?" the sun-kissed one – Connor – asked, his voice suspicious.

"I _did_ say there was an incident at my school," she hedged, "I was one of the ones injured in that."

Blue-eyes – Murphy – scoffed lightly. "Jus' tell us, _aingael._ Ain't any use in hidin' it." He wavered under the flat stare Siobhan directed at him.

"Please stop using that petname. If you must give me one, use Shiv. It's what my –" She cut herself off, closing her eyes as she desperately tried to block out images of bloodied corpses, of unseeing eyes. She continued after a moment, her voice wavering slightly. "It's what my friends used to call me." _Now, only Hermione . . ._


	9. Feather Nine

**Feather Nine**

Kian came in not long later, carrying a sandwich and glass of water, presumable from the small kitchen in the flat above _McGinty's_, where he – and now she – lived.

"Why don't yeh tell us what happened?" he asked – a few sputtering curses calmly ignored by Siobhan and the men.

She looked up at the ceiling, her hand finding the bone crucifix as they brought up the past. The attack.

"Very bad things happened," Siobhan said quietly, "Some people died. Can we not talk about it?"

"Are yeh hurt? Was it _them_?" Kian demanded urgently, stepping forward with a worried look upon his weathered face. She looked at him with a small frown.

"I _did_ say I was one of the people hurt in the incident at school," she stated, a far too mild tone in her voice for their comfort.

"How bad were yeh hurt?" the sun-kissed man asked, stepping forward before his moon-kissed brother did.

She must have looked bewildered. "I'm not going to die from them, if that's what you're worried about," she said, feeling her face contort – unwillingly – into a confused expression.

"More worried about yeh bein' in pain," Murphy said lowly – he sounded almost. . . Siobhan looked away, trying to dismiss images of Neville. Of what he was now cursed with.

"I'm on medicine," she lied instead, "So I'll be fine. Really."

Somewhere deep inside, she wished they hadn't believed her.


	10. Feather Ten

**Feather Ten**

Siobhan bit her lip, looking at the tattoo shop warily. It was one of the few places she thought would hire her, as she was under eighteen. The other was _maybe_ the meat packing plant, but Connor and Murphy worked there. As much as she liked the men, it. . . It was probably best if she at least tried to stay distant.

Yes. Yes, Siobhan thought it would be best. At least for now. She didn't want to . . . _replace_ her friends so soon after, well, since they were gone.

With a soft sigh, the teen entered the tattoo shop, glancing around for the owner or at least one of the artists. An older man was hunched over a sketchbook, his pencil moving furiously. She just stood awkwardly, waiting for him to finish.


	11. Feather Eleven

**Feather Eleven**

The man finally looked up, mercurial eyes piercing Siobhan. His graying burgundy hair was shorn into a military haircut. _He does look like a soldier,_ she decided.

"Didja need somethin', girl?" he demanded gruffly.

"A job," she bluntly replied, "Preferably a decent one. I can clean, take out trash. . . anything that you need me to do," Siobhan paused, "Except actually tattooing someone."

He studied her, thick eyebrows drawn together. "Look, girl, this ain't an area yer gonna want a job in. Look for a petshop or somethin' elsewhere," he finally said, clearly dismissing her as he turned back to his sketchpad.

A scowl crossed her features. "Look, _man_, my name is Siobhan. I _live_ in this area, so please explain to me why I should look for a job further away."

That drew a surprised – and considering – glance from the artist.


	12. Feather Twelve

**AN: Updates are going to be sporadic. No, I won't increase the length of the chapters. They will always be between 100 and 300 words long, hence why this is a **_**drabble-like**_** story. I'm sorry if you don't like it, but that's the way it's gonna be. I don't want to burn myself out doing only part of this.**

**Feather Twelve**

"Why come here for a job?" the tattoo artist asked after a moment, "Why not th'store down th'road or even th'packin' plant? Both have an easier time of hirin' a young thing like yeh."

Siobhan stared flatly at him. "Because I don't want to," she replied simply, "I chose this place."

"Why?" he retorted.

"Why not?" They both knew there were many reasons why not to choose the tattoo studio. Not the least of which was that they did not know each other.

"Fine, girl. We'll try this out. Pay'll depend on how well yeh do, and yeh'll start tomorrow when yeh get off'a school." The tattoo artist turned back to his paper.

"What time does the shop open?" Siobhan asked.

"Seven. We close at nine." The artist frowned slightly at her.

"Tomorrow, then." Siobhan nodded solidly, then left without another word.


	13. Feather Thirteen

**Coverphoto courtesy of Astrocat on Deviant Art.**

'**Malachi' is a male Irish name pronounced 'mala-kee'. It means 'my angel' or 'messenger of God'. Quinn is a common surname, and means either 'wisdom' or 'chief'.**

**Feather Thirteen**

Siobhan arrived at eight, after having breakfast with her grandda and a few of the early regulars – they did provide some food even this early in the day.

"I thought I told you _after_ school," the tattoo artist growled.

"My school's let out," Siobhan replied flatly, "Hence why I'm looking for a job."

The artist still frowned at her. "If yer lyin', girl . . ."

Siobhan smiled slightly. "I'm not."

With that said, she got to work – wiping down the counter and sweeping the floors with things she found in a supply cupboard. At least they – well, Malachi – had the things she needed to do her job. The Dursleys sometimes didn't.


	14. Feather Fourteen

**Feather Fourteen**

Siobhan ended up getting paid fifty dollars at the end of the day.

"Buy yehself something sweet," Malachi had grumbled gruffly. She just tucked the money away in one of her books.

Her schedule for working at the tattoo shop would be Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday afternoons, excepting this immediate Tuesday (It had been a Monday she had come in and cleaned).

"Yeh got yerself a job?" Murphy had asked in surprise upon hearing she had to go to work.

"Did you expect me to sit around on my arse while I'm here?" Siobhan replied, tilting her head slightly in curiosity.

"Yer a teen," Murphy admitted. Which meant he expected her to be lazy.

She snorted slightly. "I have to do _something_, or I'd go crazy."


	15. Feather Fifteen

**Feather Fifteen**

"Yeh've gone all responsible, haven't yeh?" Connor asked with a ragged smirk – was ragged the right word? It seemed ragged, tired, worn, to her.

"I am more responsible than others my age tend to be," Siobhan replied rather blandly.

"Maybe, but yeh got a _job!_ Me 'n Murph didn' even want to get one here, but we had t'."

Siobhan shook her head. She honestly couldn't believe how some people could laze around all day, then be able to sleep at night. She had to tire herself out doing something – anything, really. Recently she started to do pushups and jogging and other such things just to sleep properly at night.

"I'm not you," she told him.

Sharp eyes – _They're a shade or five lighter than mine_, she realized absently – studied her.

"No," he allowed rather solemnly, "I s'pose yeh're not."


	16. Feather Sixteen

**Feather Sixteen**

Connor and Murphy were rather persistent, it seemed, in getting her to enjoy her stay in Boston.

"Yeh've got to have spendin' money by now," Murphy said with a dry chuckle. He said that because now she also helped serve food – not drinks, she wasn't even eighteen yet, not to mention most who got drinks were incorrigible flirts – at her grandda's pub.

"I do," she allowed with a partial shrug.

"C'mon. We'll even take yeh shoppin'," the blue-eyed twin wheedled. His brother shot him a brief look of annoyance.

Siobhan hid a smile. "I don't like to go shopping – there are too many people in one spot, usually."

That drew a nod from both men. Shopping malls were usually crowded. "We could take yeh later tonigh'," Connor offered slowly.


	17. Feather Seventeen

**AN: As voted in my poll on my profile, this one will be updated more frequently than the other stories I have.**

**Feather Seventeen**

Grandda sent Siobhan off without needing to be convinced.

The twins were kind, but rough around the edge – _And doesn't that sound so cliché? –_ and they did care for her. They cared for Kian, too.

They insisted on taking her to one of the many delis for lunch – brunch? – as well as helping pay for new, sturdy clothing.

"Not much o' a girl, are yeh?" Connor asked when they passed by handbags and make-up without a second glance.

"Hm?" Siobhan replied, then realized what he had meant. "Oh. All that is alright, if there's an occasion for it, like a dance or a date. Not much use in prettying up when that's how you normally look, is there?"

No, Connor supposed, there wasn't.


	18. Feather Eighteen

**Feather Eighteen**

_Empty brown eyes stared back at her, accusing and cold. "Ron?" Hermione croaked in horror. Siobhan couldn't tear her eyes away from his fallen form._

"_Ron?" Hermione called again, more desperate this time. Her voice cracked, a sob tearing itself from her throat. Siobhan just stood there, returning her dead friend's stare, just as blank and empty as his dead orbs._

_It might have been better, if maybe he hadn't had his insides torn out of him. It might have been better, if Siobhan hadn't seen the spell or its caster murder him. It might have been better, if she had been able to save him the pain of feeling his insides being torn out._

What do I do?_ she thought to herself. _What do I do now? So many died. . .


	19. Feather Nineteen

**Feather Nineteen**

Perhaps it was merely Siobhan's imagination, but her mending injuries hurt far more than they usually did. Hopefully no one would notice.

Malachi sent her home earlier than usual – _But that could have been due to it being a Saturday,_ she told herself– and the regulars at the pub were starting to give her _looks_, but that was fine. It was fine. It had to be fine. She couldn't deal with it not being fine.

_You want them to ask, though. You want them to know what's wrong, so you can be comforted even though you don't _deserve_ it. What you deserve is this pain so you can atone for your transgressions against the innocent. You deserve pain for the deaths of your friends and the curses you have brought upon the survivors._

Siobhan whimpered softly, wanting to stop hating herself but . . . how could she, when she actually believed what she was thinking?


	20. Feather Twenty

**Feather Twenty**

"Siobhan?" Kian's voice wobbled slightly as he called through her closed door.

Siobhan shoved away the pain – _It hurt so much, though. Why couldn't anyone see that? _– and answered. "Yes, Grandda?"

"C'n I come in?" he asked. She opened her door, hoping he wouldn't mention her reddened face. _Crying isn't good. Don't cry. Don't cry._

"Siobhan, I. . ." A few expletives fell out of his mouth. "I'm worried."

"About what, Grandda?" _Why ask if you know, _she thought, but she already knew the answer to that, too.

"About yeh," he replied, as she had thought, with his eyes rather large and sad behind his spectacles.

"I'm sorry," Siobhan admitted freely, "I'm trying to do better."

But her Grandda shook his head. "I jus' want yeh t'know I'm here. I _understand_ th' grief of losin' good people. Of friends," Kian explained softly.

Jaded green eyes fell to the floor. "Thank you, Grandda. But . . . It's too early yet."


	21. Feather Twenty One

**Feather Twenty-One**

After Kian left, Siobhan curled around herself. _It hurts._

She clutched at her short hair, her chest heaving silently. _It hurts._

Hot tears ran over her flushed features. _It __**hurts.**_

She didn't know what to do to make it _stop __**hurting.**_

Merely talking to her grandda wouldn't make it _stop_.

Siobhan stood. She put on a jacket, put on her shoes. Left the pub without seeing anyone – _They were closed now. Just for a few hours. Perfect time to leave._

She wandered.

Found a place – _A church? It feels. . . _– that felt safe. That felt welcoming.

Sat down and tried to smother the _hurt_ that poisoned her. The grief.

_How do I make it __**stop**__?_ _Please. . . make it __**stop**__._

**AN: Sorry, but it's important to realize Siobhan has untreated PTSD, survivor's guilt, and similar conditions. Also, my apologies for update delays, I'll get some more chapters of Feathers – and possibly Zenku – out soon.**


	22. Feather Twenty Two

**Feather Twenty-Two**

Siobhan dreamt of singing lights that night. They danced around her, chirring and chirruping in equal measures.

She felt like she was being cradled, safe against someone's chest. The world around her looked like a . . . a galaxy, maybe. Stars that sang orbited around a brighter center that also sang, her deep within the hold of the rim stars.

_Safe,_ the stars whispered, _Safe with us. Just for tonight._

_Siobhan dreamt she was flying. Or falling forever, with little direction. Soft voices hummed around her, words indistinguishable from each other._

"_Precious one," a voice hissed in her ear. It made a sudden tenseness overtake her – did she even have a body? When she looked down, all she saw was soft grey light. But she still felt as if she had muscles to tense._

"_Away, brother. She is here for peace. Leave her, for now." This voice made the tenseness dispel, at least partially. There was a long pause._

"_Very well," the first voice hissed. Both presences vanished. Siobhan faded back into the peaceful dreamscape, eyes on the stars around her, marveling at the beauty of them darting around so._


	23. Feather Twenty Three

**Feather Twenty Three**

A crash startled Siobhan out of her slumber. Three voices were hissing back and forth.

A man's voice suddenly called out, "Who's there?" The three voices fell silent. An abrupt cry of pain, and a low thump sounded in her ears.

With narrow eyes, Siobhan carefully rolled off of the pew she had fallen asleep on.

"He's a fuckin' priest!" one of the voices hissed.

"Be glad we didn't kill him, then," another replied.

Three men. . . Siobhan was sure she could catch them by surprise and take out one, maybe two. _Robbing a church,_ she growled angrily.

Her plan hadn't gone right. Sure, Siobhan had knocked one out, but one of the remaining two had a mean right hook. It was only luck that she had managed to know that one out semi-quickly with a hastily and wandlessly cast _Stupefy._ The third – being the guilty-feeling one – just sat down, his head hanging in shame.

Her head and neck throbbed painfully as she crouched to rouse the priest. Blood dripped from her face onto the white and green stole thrown askew by his fall. _Saint Patrick's is today,_ she realized. Two months had already passed. . . Yet her wounds felt like they were inflicted not a month ago.

**AN: Her wandless magic is weak.**


	24. Feather Twenty Four

**Feather Twenty-Four**

Siobhan called the police – _Because this is the normal world and you have to call them, instead of arresting them yourself,_ she thought with a grimace – and then the pub.

Grandda sent Murphy and Connor to make sure she was alright. They arrived before the policemen did.

"Wha' th'fuck happened?" the sun-kissed twin demanded, sparing only a passing glance to the now tied up men. Murphy was the one to check on them, to make sure the unconscious ones were still unconscious and the awake one was complacent.

"I found them attempting to rob the church," Siobhan stated, her voice slightly nasally through her broken nose. She had found some tissues to blow out the excess blood and had straightened it back out the best she could.

"So ye decided t'take th'fuckers on? _With a priest?_" Connor demanded, gesturing at the elder man lain carefully on a padded pew.

Siobhan blinked, startled. "Of course not! I only attacked them after they – well, the two unconscious – threatened the priest's life!" she retorted coolly, her eyes narrowing. _If only I had been healthy._

It was then that the police arrived. Siobhan gave her statement to a Detective Duffy, asserted him that her only wound was the one on her face, and explained the conscious robber had willingly waited for the police.

She was allowed to leave with Connor and Murphy after providing where she lived and a way to contact her.

**AN: Yes, this was one of the longer chapters BUT. . . I'm working on Zenku. I've let that sit for far longer than I had intended. This means Feathers will be slowed down even more. These two chapters are gonna be the last for a little while.**


	25. Feather Twenty Five

**AN: And now that Zenku's updated, this will be as well. Questions or suggestions are always welcome.**

**Feather Twenty-Five**

"So, what exactly were ye thinkin'?" Murphy asked quietly, steering her into a coffee shop.

Siobhan blinked at him, brushing a finger over her swollen nose lightly. It throbbed, but hurt less than other injuries she had received over the years.

"Perhaps tha' I'd been through worse than two stupid men," she replied, and while that was true, she left out the part of her being sure she could win without loss of life due to her magic, as weak as it was.

"Y'mean three men that had th'gall to rob a damn church?" Connor spoke, still obviously irritated.

"Yes," Siobhan stated. After a glance over the menu, she ordered a small cake and a chai latte, ignoring the odd look the waitress gave her and the twins.


	26. Feather Twenty Six

**Feather Twenty-Six**

As the trio left the small café, Siobhan studied the small note the waitress had given her with her cake, confused.

"Wha's wrong, _aingael?_" Murphy asked, seeing her frown. Wordlessly, she passed him the note, confusion still apparent.

His blue eyes narrowed in anger. "Wha' th'fuck!" he growled.

"'S not my fault Connor's irritation made her suspicious," Siobhan said quietly. The sun-kissed twin seemed confused until Murphy passed him the note, at which he repeated the curse.

There was a brief silence between the trio, where the witch was sure a _look_ was being exchanged between the two men.

"She didn' look tha' much older than ye," Connor eventually said.

"And?" she replied, brow furrowed.

"An' ye need friends. _Female_ friends, mind, as boys can be very . . . pushy," Murphy told her sternly.

_What?_ Siobhan was, admittedly, quite confused by their behaviour. She never had anyone actually _tell _her to get friends before.


	27. Feather Twenty Seven

**AN: Sorry, but I have a lack of people to work with. I have to utilize OCs. Would you guys mind if I used people from fandoms other than HP or BS?**

**Feather Twenty-Seven**

Siobhan, the next day, did get around to phoning the waitress – Ana Korvacs, a rather pretty dark red-haired girl with blue eyes.

They met up at a different café, where Siobhan once again ordered a small cake and a chai latte.

"Miss Korvacs, when you gave me the note. . . " The young witch wasn't sure as to how to explain just how wrong the woman had been.

"Are you alright?" Ana asked worriedly.

"I'm fine – that's the point. Neither Connor nor Murphy has harmed me in any way. I had interrupted a robbery the other day," Siobhan settled for telling her the gist, "And they were merely buying me a treat."

Ana seemed mortified. "I'm so, _so_ sorry! I – I guess I just assumed. . . "

"You did assume," Siobhan admitted, "But . . . at least you were concerned." Ana beamed at Siobhan, and began to chatter away about random tidbits about Boston, to dispel the awkward air she had created by accusing Connor and Murphy of abusing Siobhan.


	28. Feather Twenty Eight

**AN:** **Gate of Heaven Catholic Church is a real church in South Boston.**

**Feather Twenty-Eight**

"Th'ell happened t'yeh?" Malachi demanded as Siobhan stepped into his shop, two days after the church incident.

After a moment of debate, she admitted, "Gate of Heaven Catholic Church."

Malachi scowled fiercely. "What'd yer parents have t'say t'yeh fer bein' so damn stupid?" he growled.

A pause, where Siobhan stared at him, and he glared at her.

"They're dead, Mister Quinn. M'Grandda wasn't too pleased, but he was proud I stood up for the priest that nearly got murdered," she eventually replied, her voice having cooled significantly.

The tattoo artist's scowl froze in place, caught between wanting to still be angry at her for risking her life and the awkward shame of having accidentally triggered a sore spot.

"Jus' don't do it again. Yer one'a th'few workers I c'n actually like," he finally grumbled.

Siobhan didn't promise.


	29. Feather Twenty Nine

**Feather Twenty-Nine**

"Don't you ever go out, aside from with those two?" Ana asked, glancing over at the MacManus twins.

"Not really," Siobhan said, a careful shrug lifting her shoulders.

"Why not?" Blue eyes – darker blue than Murphy's own, but with a peculiar hint of green in them – studied her inquisitively.

"Hard to, when I only know them an' m'grandda," Siobhan admitted, "And you."

A determined look crossed Ana's features. "You're available tomorrow, right?" Ana asked.

Siobhan thought for a moment, then nodded. Malachi had given her a few days off, to recover from the church incident.

"I'm gonna take you to my friend's place. Teanna and her sister are great friends."

Siobhan found that she couldn't refuse Ana this time. Not unlike how Siobhan couldn't quite bring herself to actually tell the twins to shove off when they dragged her out of the pub.


	30. Feather Thirty

**Feather Thirty**

Teanna and Laketta were two sisters of Jamaican descent, as well as nearly identical in appearance despite not being twins. The only difference was that Teanna opted for blue contacts while Laketta chose green, creating a rather bizarre effect due to their nearly black eyes.

"So, you're Siobhan?" Laketta asked, a small smirk in place.

"Yes," the witch replied blandly.

Teanna laughed slightly. "Ana told us about her little 'mistake'. So, are those two men free?" she inquired, a look on her face that Siobhan couldn't quite place.

"Free?" Siobhan parroted in confusion.

"Do they have girlfriends?" Laketta asked, the same look on her face, too. The youngest of the group frowned at them unsurely.

"I don't know. We aren't really tha' close, personally," Siobhan admitted reluctantly.

"Then why would they take you out?" Teanna asked, her face morphing into a frown.

She had to think about that, for a moment. "They're regulars at m'grandda's pub, s'all. Friends of th'family, even if I don't know them all tha' well." The three women exchanged _looks_. Siobhan was getting tired of people doing that.


	31. Feather Thirty One

**Feather Thirty-One**

"Siobhan." The girl looked up at Malachi, brow furrowing.

"Yes?"

"Yer doin' great, but . . . I think yeh only need t'be here for Monday and Friday. Alrigh'?" he said, sounding almost hesitant.

Siobhan was a very good cleaner, and it seemed Malachi wasn't as much of a clean-nut as Aunt Petunia had been.

"Alrigh'. Did you need anything else, sir?" she replied. _A new job. Perhaps that pawn shop. . . Or Ana's coffee shop?_

"No."

Siobhan went back to cleaning, ignoring the enticing images of marked skin. _Odd that I __**like**__marked skin, considering. . ._ Considering also that scars – marks of a different sort – were a large part of her life, well, perhaps it wasn't so odd.


	32. Feather Thirty Two

**Feather Thirty-Two**

She decided to approach the owner of the pawn shop. Except, she had turned her down – at least until Siobhan turned around and identified a small plaque as belonging to a branch of the small French merchant family Malfoy, and bearing its coat of arms, yet not its motto, for some peculiar reason.

The proprietress had frowned at her speculatively, a small 'ah' of realization leaving her lips.

"You're _that_ Siobhan Potter." The older woman's brow drew together in thought. "Very well. Once a week, at first. You can help me organize and catalogue things. I am Bonnie Williams."

Bonnie Williams was an older woman – perhaps sixty years old – and had only the faintest Scottish lilt to her voice. She was strict in a way that reminded Siobhan of Aunt Petunia, yet kind in a way she wasn't too sure of. Her husband, Anthony Williams, was away – doing what, Siobhan didn't know.

All Siobhan knew for sure, was that she was fond of the woman and fond of the pawn shop.


	33. Feather Thirty Three

**AN: **A Thaisce is pronounced 'ah hash-keh' and means 'my treasure' as far as I know. I'm not entirely sure if I am using it properly, so please tell me if I made a mistake. If I have, it shall be changed at a later time.

**Feather Thirty-Three**

"Almos' didn' recognize ye, _A Thaisce__!_" Connor ribbed gently, a broad grin on his face.

Siobhan ducked her head slightly, a blush working across her face. While she hadn't been able to do much at Malachi's or at Bonnie's, she _had_ found a place in the relatively nearby dance studio. As a consequence, she wasn't around when the twins were, or at least not as often.

"Where ye been, _aingael_?" Murphy asked in curiosity, shooting his brother a small confused look as she wasn't looking at either of them.

"Aroun'. Malachi 'n' Bonnie've let me out of work more often, so. . . I found th'nearest dance studio," she admitted.

"Bonnie?" the twins asked simultaneously, another confused look – that she caught this time – was exchanged.


	34. Feather Thirty Four

**AN: To my knowledge, 'Urban Dance Center of South Boston' does not exist.**

**Feather Thirty-Four**

"Yes, Bonnie. Th'owner of th'only pawnshop within a mile," Siobhan replied with a small sigh.

The two men looked at her, then at each other, then Murphy seemed to realize something. "_Dance studio?_" he nearly yelped in shock.

She gave the moon-kissed man an odd look. "Yes. . . The Urban Dance Center of South Boston. I'm still unfit to learn how to fight, but the instructor had me try some poses and moves, to see if he could teach me – an' I passed. Mostly. So, I'm learning t'dance."

"Ye. . . 'mostly passed'?" Connor asked in confusion. Siobhan merely nodded.

"How can ye only 'mostly pass' somethin'?" Murphy spoke up, prodding the teen with a small frown.

"By still being injured. I can do most of the basic forms, and that's all he cared about," she explained with a put-upon sigh.

Dancing taught a lot. It also kept one fit. _That_ was all _she _cared about.


	35. Feather Thirty Five

**AN: I'm so sorry, I had updated with 35 on Ao3, but apparently forgot to do the same here. :c Please forgive me.**

**Feather Thirty-Five**

Siobhan pulled at the end of her dress nervously, cursing her mouth.

When Tianna, Ana, and Laketta had found out she was (once again) going out with the twins (_It isn't like that! Not that they __**listen**__, _she thought to herself) they promptly dressed her up and did her up enough to make it casual by their standards. Siobhan had stonewalled them from doing any further.

That didn't excuse the short dress they had shoved her in, or the sheer leggings, or the _heeled boots_.

Siobhan wouldn't admit that it had been very satisfying to see their mouths drop open in shock for the sole reason that she had to _explain_ that her friends thought she had to dress up when going out, no matter who it was with.

She would never give the three women the chance to laugh at her embarrassment, after all. Not if she could prevent it.

Siobhan had gotten enough of that at the Dursleys and at Hogwarts, after all.


	36. Feather Thirty Six

**Feather Thirty-Six**

It was her birthday. Siobhan rolled her shoulders, trying to dismiss the tingling on her back. She should have slept on her stomach last night.

She hesitated, stepping down from the flat cautiously. It was quiet, even for a morning. The now of-age witch had been planning to spend the day in, but. . . Did Grandda know today was her birthday?

Aunt Petunia would have told him, if he had asked, and he seemed the type to ask. He was indeed kind, as she had wondered months ago.

"_Surprise!"_

Siobhan blinked owlishly at the group of people gathered in the pub. The twins – Connor and Murphy as well as Laketta and Tianna – were there. Anna and Rocco were, too. She turned to stare at her grandfather, a confused frown in place, but he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, a smile on his weathered face.


	37. Feather Thirty Seven

**AN: Here. Have a longer-than-usual chapter. Enjoy. And tell me if you actually want a pairing or not (there's a poll up on my profile).**

**Feather Thirty Seven**

Laketta and Tianna had gravitated to the twins. Ana was talking to Rocco.

Siobhan was happy, sitting next to her grandda, eating a slice of yellow cake with chocolate frosting. There had been only a few candles on the cake, but that was alright because it took less of the frosting away.

She blamed Remus (_He's still alive, he's still alive, even if he won't talk to you, so don't worry about him, and don't get upset on your birthday because Grandda worked hard on this!_) for her love of chocolate. It certainly hadn't been the Dursleys who got her addicted to the sweet, after all.

"D'ye like it?" Kian asked hesitantly. Siobhan cast him a smile and a nod.

"This is the greatest birthday party, ever," she reassured him.

And it was. Because it was with her family – Kian _loved_ her – and her friends. Even if said friends were currently occupied with flirting with each other. A small frown flicked across her face, primarily aimed at Laketta and Tianna.

_Stop it,_ Siobhan scolded herself, _They're allowed to flirt. You aren't dating either of them – nor do you plan on doing so._ But she was worried. She knew Tianna and Laketta – they were sweet, and could be good women, but they were also shallow. So, she was concerned for Connor and Murphy.

_They can take care of themselves_, she thought with a small shake of her head. They could. They've had their own girlfriends occasionally meet them at the pub. She was sure they could handle themselves.

And the fact she had a small crush on them – _Both of them, because it was too difficult to imagine one without the other, and why was she even thinking about this?_ – might have been the reason she was so protective. Or that's just how she was, now.


	38. Feather Thirty Eight

**AN: So far I've got 5 votes for 'yes' – three for describing the process in the story, two for just making it pop up with little lead up – and only one for 'no'. The poll – for whether or not there will be a pairing in the story – will remain for a few more days.**

**Feather Thirty Eight**

So, the itching never dissipated – the one that had started the morning of Siobhan's seventeenth birthday. It was constant, sweeping over different areas on her back, gradually sinking down to just above her buttocks by suppertime.

Her friends had actually brought her presents, too, on a different note.

Laketta and Tianna had, of _course_, gotten her makeup.

Ana had gotten her a dress and leggings – "Because I know you absolutely hate showing your legs," she had explained, much to Siobhan's surprise.

Rocco, oddly, had gone with a rather large supply of chai latte teabags and a smaller supply of cakes. The same cakes she usually ordered at the coffeehouse. A quick glance at Ana – who smirked – told Siobhan that Rocco had gone to her for help, instead of Grandda or the twins.

Grandda had gotten her two things. One was a pass to a 'mixed martial arts' studio, the other was a silver-coloured bracelet. It was a rather simple bracelet, but beautiful, in that three separate 'threads' of silver spun around each other.

Murphy had gotten her a _book_, and not just any book: a Gaelic _songbook_. And while Murphy had given her something superfluous, Connor had gone with _practical._ He had given her a knife, a very simple but sturdy thing that fit in her palm almost as if it were meant to be there. The blade was only three inches long, and also exceedingly sharp – something she realized by just touching the sharp edge – and had its own little sheath.

"It's alrigh' to carry it," Connor had said, "Checked the laws m'self." She had beamed at both of them because she liked music, and she liked to be able to defend herself.

Siobhan spent quite a bit of the day – after the little party was over – tucked away in her room, reading her songbook, sipping on tea, and occasionally eating a small cake.


	39. Feather Thirty Nine

**AN: As far as I'm aware, 'Venia' means forgiveness, pardon, grace, and indulgence in Latin. **Also, the poll is closed: Six votes for a pairing, one for no pairing.

**Feather Thirty Nine**

Siobhan frowned at the small dark line she could just barely see in the mirror. _What. . ._ With quick steps, she locked the restroom door and tore off her top, twisting to stare at her back in disbelief.

_So much for getting 'Venia' down my spine,_ she thought with a heavy sigh – because _of course_ this would happen to her.

'This' being the large sweeping black-and-skin coloured wings etched into her back and sides, disappearing down into her jeans. Siobhan had no idea as to the _how_ or _why_ they were there.

The small dark line that had caught her attention was the very tip of a feather on the tip of one of the wings.

_Inheritance, maybe?_ Very few witches and wizards received any visible 'inheritance', as it was called. The coming of age was sacred – or it had been, once upon a time. Britain placed less value on it than, say, the French or the Bulgarians.

Numbers, of course, had a specific resonance with magic, as did runes, hence the Ancient Runes and Arithmancy courses Hogwarts had given. As such, once one reached a specific age, sometimes one would receive a power boost, or their eyes would change, or some other trivial thing. No one Siobhan knew of had ever received a _mark_, let alone one that seemed to move, as hers did.

She had to talk to Bonnie.


	40. Feather Forty

**Feather Forty**

"I haven't seen the like," Bonnie said, running gnarled fingers over Siobhan's marks, "Are you sure you didn't have Quinn do this?"

Siobhan gave Bonnie a flat look. "It looks like it just healed, if it _were_ a tattoo," the young witch stated instead of bothering to answer a question they both knew the answer to.

"It's not," Bonnie stated quietly, "Like a tattoo, I mean. Can you feel the slight ridge? Moreso than a tattoo. And it positively thrums with power, a sort that I have never come across before."

Bonnie and Siobhan stared at each other, coming to an agreement without saying a word. Bonnie would ask her contacts about obscure magic or otherwise enchanted objects, as well as 'marks'.

Siobhan would, in turn, do what she could to help. Which, admittedly wasn't as much as either of them would like, but Siobhan _could_ provide money for bribes or objects that possessed similar qualities or could potentially explain such a phenomenon. She could also document any other things she noticed about the marks.

Hopefully they wouldn't spread.


End file.
